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photo by Joeball

Being unable to hear yourself think is not such a bad thing when, as a result, you're able to experience everything in its pure state as the alternative.

Devout adepts since time immemorial have immersed themselves in meditative and reflective practices to still the fluctuations of the mind and turn off the internal chatter; that same desired outcome can be achieved almost instantaneously by eating a cannabis cookie and riding your bike behind tehJobies’ latest incarnation of the music bike, this one fitted out with two rocket-booster shaped speakers delivering an even more face-meltingly loud volume for your cycling and dancing pleasure, despite the initial tune of the night being a perennial front-runner in the ongoing contest for most annoying pop hit of all time.

Still, it’s hilarious to see people come running from all directions and stop in their tracks to point and cheer when the parade of bikes and beats rolls by.  My face hurt from smiling after a mere two or three blocks to go along with the flayed fabric of my eardrums as I experienced something akin to Pure Being or maybe just another Thursday night out on two wheels.

Spring was at its vernal best; the stiff southwest breeze following record-breaking rain had cleared out the skies and it remained warm enough all evening for light wool, especially around the cheery fire at Seward started by the chain-smoking Ito on a bed of firecrackers which happily hoist him by his own petard in its lighting.

The Angry Hippy asked around at Westlake for something to get him started on his drunk for the evening; I’m not sure his request was met then, but by the time, several hours later, he was observed sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk outside karaoketown, one could assume, and not just by the coffin nail, that mission was accomplished.

My peak moment was slightly earlier, pouring from the park to Jello Biafra’s incomparably dulcet tones: Point83 Uber Alles, indeed.